Hobbie's Hangover
by Narya's Bane
Summary: We know Wes as the humorous one, but there has to be some circumstance in which he is not THE funniest. And allfunny people surround themselves with those who appreciate a good joke. What happens when Wes has to be the one that is actually thinking.


The following is semi-random, and the result of musings and actions that I will assert are not at all drunken! Special thanks to my two best friends for making this as realistic as possible.

This is speculation. We know Wes as the humorous one, but there has to be some circumstance in which he is not THE funniest. And all funny people surround themselves with those who appreciate a good joke. So- what happens when Wes has to be the one that is actually thinking clearly? Err- clearer than his drunken companion, at least.

A/N: still own nothing. nada. zip. zilch. wish I did.

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Wes knew even has he picked up the link that he was going to regret making this comm call. In fact, he did regret it. He just hadn't made it yet. Luckily, he was able to make it to one of a very few people who would actually understand something of was going on. Wes made up his mind to try and be as normal as possible... a thought that flitted out of his head as a cough shook his body as he dialed Garik Loran's number.

"This is Face."

"Hey, this is Wes. Wes Janson. I was hoping you might have some useful information."

The astonishment was audible even before Face said anything. Wes was aware that his voice probably sounded quite like it was running through an ewok modulator, with how scratchy and strained it was. When there was finally an answer, it was to this point the person on the other end spoke. "Wes. You sound terrible."

"Lovely greeting. Anyway, are you willing to help me or not?" Wes was, for once, in little mood to actually play around. The evening had not gone at all as planned.

Early on in the evening, Wes had attempted to lock down his apartment and go to sleep. He hadn't been feeling well lately, in fact missing the last several missions with Rogue Squadron due to catching an uncommon strain of the flu several weeks earlier. The effects were beginning to wear off, but that didn't stop the pilot from feeling like shavit- thus turning in early. The entire plan had gone awry very quickly, due to Rogue Squadron's return. The return had happened many hours before, actually, which is why Wes had been willing to hole up. In particular the plan had been ambused by a knock at his door and a familiar voice on the other end demanding to borrow a particular collection of holovids to find an answer to what was apparently an all-important question.

"What did you need, Wes?"

"Do you remember, in any of your vids, a woman whose chest was particularly perky?"

Stunned silence greeted Wes' ear, and an exhalation that seemed along the lines of a shudder. "Seeing as how I was ten at the time," Face responded, "I can safely say it's not the kind of thing I would remember."

Wes' sigh was quite uncharacteristic. "Too bad," he commented. "It could have helped me get to bed faster."

Confusion was obvious in Face's voice. "What do perky chests in my holofilms have to do with you getting to sleep faster?

Something mental?"

Wes was aggravated. Head hurting, hands shaking... exhaustion. "It has to do with Hobbie," he admitted. "He ended up on the ground during the Rogue's mission today. Came out all right, but did manage to get himself shot, and got home to a little bit more celebrating than was truthfully adviseable." There was an obvious grin in his voice. "Which means that he ended up deposited in front of my door in a heap, then wandered in when I opened it demanding to borrow some of my holos. Your holos, actually."

"Where did you- no, WHY did you have those?"

"I'd been planning a prank. Sort of a long term... oh no you don't! I'm not saying any more about that. At any rate, Hobbie's going through them looking for something he found when he was a much younger and more handsome boy..."

At that point a somewhat unfamiliar voice piped up, "You're SUPPOSED to be my best friend, Wes. How about a little support?"

Wes grumbled. He was tired, and not very willing to deal with the continual jumps in conversation. "Support? Hobbs, what have you done besides force me to stay awake while you wandered through these dumb holodramas..." Turning back to the phone, Wes added, "No offense, Loran."

Face's amusement flowed through the link. "None taken, I guess. Which one is he watching?"

There wasn't an immediate response to that, only Hobbie's voice demanding, "At least I provided you with a thingy for the thingy and the...the thing." Then, after an instant of quiet, Hobbie spoke up more decisively. "Yes."

Wes shook his head. "Yes, which would have been great. If I hadn't already been stuck here with that sith-begotten flu already. I, however, will have to report in tomorrow, while at this point I highly doubt that you will even be able to open your eyes."

"Don't need to open my eyes. No pretty ladies. Ah, here we go. 'We're running, we're running, we're running, we're turning! Here come the Imperial Stormtroopers! They'll save me from my horrid Jedi parents!'"

Wes shook his head. "Whatever am I going to do with you? You're actually chipper- almost acting like me!"

On the other end, Face gagged. "He's watching 'Lies and Glory'?"

Wes didn't answer, as Hobbie answered Wes' earlier rhetorical question. "You could get me more alcohol?"

"Hobbs!"

"What? It's a depressant."

"Only for whoever has to listen to you."

"No, hear me out! If I get enough, it should counteract whatever is already in my system."

"He's not watching the films, by the way. Doing rapid forwarding. We're on to 'Black Bantha' now." Wes coughed, trying desperately not to laugh hysterically as he asked, "Where is the usual, dour and sad-faced Hobbie I know?"

"With Myn and that other guy- tall, large shoulders? One of the Wraiths?"

Wes raised an eyebrow. "Kell? You were out with Myn AND Kell?"

"Yeah! That's the guy!"

Wes shook his head. Humor flew out the window for a moment. "Please don't tell me you were playing sabaac in this condition."

"No!"

Face was suddenly even more amused by what he heard, as it seemed Wes was choking on something.

"Certainly not."

Another bout of coughs.

"Not really."

Something about Wes' body weight falling onto the floor.

"All right, yes. Don't worry, I didn't have any of my credit vouchers on me. Just yours... don't look at me like that, I was going to split the winnings with you, and I did win! Just before I lost it all." A pause of consideration. "Well, what wasn't used to pay for the drinks."

"Drinks? Plural? How much, Hobbie?"

Had Wes been paying closer attention, been more alert beyond the after-effects of the medication, he'd have noticed a none-too-drunk glint in his friend's eye. "Oh, just an ale. And perhaps something else that Myn got me. And whatever it is that the lady at the bar had me drinking with her."

At that point Face broke in. "That would explain why Myn and Kell were together hanging upside down from the upper s-foil of your x-wing, Wes."

Wes found that comment really hurt. If Kell had been alone, even drunk, Wes was pretty sure that he would at least have the possibility of getting out without a hitch anyway. But if he'd had Myn helping him in any way, when there was alcohol involved, there would be at least another hour of work to do tomorrow before he could get actual work done. He forced himself back to his feet and shook his head. Bad idea- suddenly the apartment was spinning slightly. Within seconds he was deposited back on a nearly chair.

Hobbie went back to narrating Face's holodramas. "Oh, I am a beautiful yet dangerous and evil Rebel woman! Look at me!"

Face suggested, "Congratulate him on coming out of the closet on all counts."

Wes brightened as he called it out, seeing as how his mind was not functioning fast enough to come up with a rejoinder of his own. "We've been waiting for that confession. Congratulations, Klivian. Of course this means that we'll have to come up with a new wardrobe for you, what with you being evil and female."

Hobbie was laughing, but whimpering as he did. Face finally found the courage to ask the question, "So, you mentioned he got hit? Where?"

Wes was already laughing. "Let's just say it was in an end that is the beginning of a lot of tales, though it is hardly as nice as mine."

Face was about to comment when the next amusing tidbit drifted in. Hobbie gave a whine that really was more like a petulant child than a fighter pilot. "Wes, I'm thirsty!"

Wes shrugged and went towards the kitchenette. He got a glass of water, then looked towards his best friend. There was an opening, one that the great trickster was unable to resist. He took the glass in one hand, pulled back...

The splashing sound must have been audible over the link, because Face was laughing even before Hobbie whimpered, "Now I'm wet." Then, slowly, "Hey Wes? Did you know that if I squint really hard, you kinda look like that nurse with the big... those things in front of a lady? Nice to look at, but if you touch they slap you?"

"Breasts, Hobbs. They're called breasts." There was the sound of running water again, then slowly... "I'm putting the water down over here. And I'm not coming any closer until that delusion is past."

"Fine." The sound that followed could only be described as humorous, though the visual was better.

Step. "Ouch." Step. "Ouch." Step. "Ouch." Gulp gulp gulp. Step. "Ouch." Step. "Ouch." Step. Clank.

"You know Wes, you should respect me. I'm a hero. I got shot."

There was a rather stiff shaking of breath as Wes inhaled. "Just because I come down with some sort of flu on every major compaign..."

"Not every! Just... every other."

"Oh thanks," Wes retaliated, "that makes it so much better."

"Hey, it's the truth. And you haven't had anything the past three warlords, so you knew you had it coming. Anyway, be nice, I could have died out there!"

Wes was amazingly quick with his next response, considering that for about ten minutes it had been assumed that exactly that had happened. "Perhaps you should have. Then maybe I could get some sleep."

"That's not very nice," Hobbie mentioned petulantly. "Meanie-head. Maybe I did die, but won't find out until the morning."

"Why wait? I can help you find out right now." Wes flexed his fingers, grinning wildly.

"How do we... hey, that's STILL not very nice!"

Wes decided to let Face decide on his own what the threat consisted of, and the intelligence agent was more than happy to speculate. Especially as he heard the next comment: "This is horrible. Now is when we learn about holes for poor innocent worms as made in the bodies of rebel sympathizers; I can only presume this has something to do with a new recipe."

"Don't kill him, Wes," Face begged. "I want to be there."

"Drive quickly, Poster Boy." Wes looked over warily and quickly told Face, "I think I should go. Hobbie's...oh sith!"

And the strains carried over the comm line. "Wes, there's someone in my pants and it's not me."

"Hobbie, these are MY pants."

"Oh." Then, after another quiet second, "Have you seen my underwear?"

"Kriff. Loran, I really have to go."

The comm was clicked off, and Wes turned his attention back to Hobbie fully. It was going to be a rather long night.


End file.
